About Time
by Alcamenes
Summary: R/Hr--Ron gains some advice from Charlie's Muggle girlfriend and finally realizes that he should have come clean to Hermione about his feelings years ago.*Complete*
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It seems like the millionth time that I've posted this story—once when I posted it originally, and then again when I posted the revised version. This will be the third time, overall, as it was erased along with my old account, but here it is again for any of you poor souls who might actually care ;P

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

About Time

The noise and bustle of London were especially loud that day, and could be heard all the way from a small patch of wilderness present somewhere along the Thames River. The sound of trolleys and tourists on the streets as well as that of boats conglomerated into a brouhaha of voices and engines no longer distinguishable from one another. The day was dark and gloomy, and from the banks of the river rose a mist thick and enveloping that added to the overall atmosphere of drear. From within the bushes, however, the top of two heads could be seen, upon which hair of the brightest red could be distinguished, clashing terribly with the rest of the scenery. The clouds above were dark and filled with rain that threatened to fall at any moment. It was early evening, but the dusky gloom made it look as if it were much later.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," came the voice of the tallest of the redheads from within the bushes. His voice was lined with what sounded like doubt, although it could have been contempt…presumably towards the shorter man. They were undoubtedly related to each other, as aside from their red hair, their features were also very similar.

"Trust me, Ronnie, it's for your own good," the other replied. He was undoubtedly the older of the two, his face revealing a kind of resolve that could only come from living and experiencing the world. He was darker in complexion than the other and his face, although quite handsome, was one that had faced many unkind elements. He was not yet thirty, but already small lines were starting to form at the corners of his eyes; very faint although they were, the lines were deeper and much more noticeable every time he smiled as he was now doing. His eyes were like a storm ravaged ocean, bordering between a clear blue and an angry grey although there was nothing angry about this man. On the contrary, he looked to be very kind, the type of man that one could fall in love with very easily if one was a woman, the type of person that one immediately felt at ease with if one was a man.

"Don't call me Ronnie, _Charles_," the youngest replied. Although he shared the other man's hair and some of his features, his complexion was lighter, creamier, with freckles still scattered across the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. He looked much younger than the other did although he was probably in his early twenties. He was, like the other, a very handsome man; broad shoulders, and strong arms balanced his height, and his long legs were adequately muscled. At one point in his life, he must have been lanky, but the years had allowed him to grow into his limbs, and the results were by no means disappointing. His eyes, however, were the most striking for although they were blue, a shade darker than one would usually see, they betrayed within him a kind of angst, a pain of sorts, as if he'd seen many bad things in his short life and had lived to tell about them. He seemed to be overwrought with an extreme sadness, a pain deep within him, one that could only mean one thing: love.

"Sod-off, Ron, and grab the Portkey, already." His older brother's voice, for with that bickering they were obviously siblings, cut through his thoughts and he was forced to listen as a playful punch connected with his arm. "You know as well as I do that insulting me is not going to put off the inevitable forever. Loren is dying to see you again, although I have a feeling she must be a little mental to actually _want_ to subject herself to your endless moping."

Ron smiled; the angst that had been present in his eyes was now replaced with the unmistakable sparkle of mischief. "She's a Muggle, Charlie. She can't help but be a little mental. I mean why else would she be dating you?" Ron smirked. Teasing his older brother was one of his favourite pastimes, and he especially loved to tease him on the subject of women, for although Charlie was attractive, and had the dangerous qualities that women seemed to gravitate towards, he had never held onto a girl for more than a few weeks. Ron knew, then, that Loren was special and that Charlie cared a great deal about her, for they had been seeing each other for two years. What was ironic, however, was that Loren was a Muggle…non-magic folk…and that everything that Charlie was accustomed to doing to impress women—brag about his work studying dragons, mostly—was completely moot when it came to her, as although she now knew that Charlie was a wizard, she had been oblivious to the fact when she had actually fallen in love with him. 

"That's right, Ron, a Muggle who's not impressed by how many dragons I've captured and tamed, or how many containment spells I know. I won her over with my charming Weasley personality." Charlie was grinning, knowing full well that Ron was having a field day teasing him about his love life, but he couldn't help it…he was the luckiest man in the world, and the irony of Loren's Muggle status didn't escape him, although he reasoned that he'd inherited that particular fascination from his father who loved anything and everything having to do with Muggle folk—Charlie had just developed a fascination for some_one_ rather than some_thing_, that was all.

"Enough, enough," Ron said, although he was smiling also. He took a step toward the smelly old boot that was serving as Portkey, a device that would instantly teleport him to a different location, "we had better go before the look on your face turns my stomach completely," he laughed. He was infinitely happy for his brother, and even happier for his mother who had been beginning to wonder when her son would finally settle down. Charlie aimed a rude hand gesture his way, but Ron only laughed harder and grabbed the Portkey. He emerged in a small wooded area, and Charlie appeared behind him a few seconds later. Ron wobbled slightly, trying to regain his balance as the world stopped spinning. If they hadn't had to travel so far, he would have opted not to take the Portkey, but crossing an ocean really couldn't be done as quickly using any other method. Charlie, however, stood stone steady…he was, after all, accustomed to travelling this distance as he did it every week, sometimes two or three times per. The accomplishment of Charlie's maintaining a relationship for two years was overshadowed by the fact that it had, in addition, been a long distance relationship. Ron regained his balance, and as soon as his vision had cleared he looked around him.

The weather here was much different from that of where they had been only moments before. For one, it was still light out and the temperature, although slightly colder, was dry and comfortable. Lazy white clouds hung in the clear blue sky above, and Ron breathed-in the clean air. He was still in London, but a completely different London. Charlie had explained to him how Loren lived in London, but not the _same_ London that they knew. Having never taken geography, it had taken Ron a few tries before he understood that London, England, and London, Ontario, _Canada_ were two different places that simply bore the same name. He took another deep breath. London, England could profit from taking a page from the Canadians' book. The air was clean and crisp, at least much more so than the smoggy mess the British breathed-in, and it revived him instantly; he felt an ounce more at peace than he had in months.

"This way," Charlie told him, his voice breaking through the peaceful sounds of nature. He began leading the way towards a tall apartment building a few feet away, his strides significantly springier at the prospect of seeing Loren. Ron simply smirked and followed him, biting back a comment of how their brother Percy had strutted in much the same way when he had become a prefect.

~*~

The outside of the building did not do justice to what could be found inside, for the exterior walls were built of decrepit beige aluminium betraying the époque during which the building had been erected. The inside, however, was stylishly decorated in French Renaissance style with lush carpeting, and plush chairs adorning the lobby where several reproductions hung on the wall in ornate gold frames. A man behind a tall wooden desk nodded at Charlie, recognising him instantly. He gave Ron a quizzical look, although he didn't say anything, his training having taught him not to question the whims of tenants.

"Mr. Weasley, good to see you again; Miss. Chapman is expecting you. Did you want me to ring her and inform her of your arrival?" he addressed Charlie in an oily voice bearing a very fake British accent. Ron didn't like him.

"Thank you, Jonathan, old chap, but I think I'd rather like to surprise her." Charlie was undoubtedly accustomed to the doorman's slimy disposition, as it did not seem to faze him in the least.

"Very well, sir; I'll call for the lift," the doorman replied, pressing a button and looking simply bored as he recited his memorised line. A set of double doors opened nearby, and Charlie motioned Ron to follow him inside where he pressed the number 4. Ron had been in a lift before, and for that reason he was not surprised when he felt the initial heavy feeling as the lift began its ascent to the fourth floor, and the concluding feeling of weightlessness as it came to a stop. The novelty had not worn off, however, for he still felt a sense of exhilaration as the ride ended and he followed Charlie into a long corridor, which was decorated in much the same way as the lobby. Charlie stopped at a door marked with the numbers 404 and knocked lightly. A minute later, a woman answered.

"Hi, you two," she greeted, ushering the two brothers inside with a wide grin and sparkly eyes. She was not very tall, the top of her head barely reaching Charlie's shoulder. Her hair was dark brown, long and shiny and presently hung loose, the ends reaching the middle of her shoulder blades. Her eyes were of a deep brown, although in the sunlight Ron knew that they could look almost green. Her smile was easily her best feature, for when she used it, it lit up her entire face, making her eyes sparkle and her cheeks rosy. As she smiled at the two men, neither could resist smiling back at her, her grin infectious. She greeted Ron first, raising herself on the tip of her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, although he had to bend down slightly so that her lips could reach that far. She smiled, and drew him lower, embracing him in a sisterly hug; she had long ago come to accept what she had termed, to the Weasley family's amusement, her 'vertical impairment.'

"Hi, Loren. Sorry we're late," Ron told her, hugging her tightly. "Charlie here must have been primping for a good two hours before he was finally ready to go," he told her, with a grin. Loren was the type of person who had many personalities; Ron thought she was very much like his brother that way; she always had something in common with those she met, and for that reason everyone who came into contact with her liked her instantly. No matter how much trouble Ron gave Charlie about her, he didn't think he could have made a better choice had he searched the entire planet; he was terribly fond of Loren, and they had developed a close friendship. They wrote to each other often, and she had become a confidante of sorts for Ron.

Charlie gave his brother, who was still hugging Loren, a reprieving look before claiming back his girlfriend in a long embrace. She felt good in his arms, as if she's been moulded especially for them. The scent of her hair reached Charlie's nostrils, and he breathed it in deeply; he was home at last. "Don't listen to Ronnie, he's being a prat," he told her before kissing her briefly; her lips were warm and moist beneath his. He broke away reluctantly, but kept his arms around her just the same. She shifted in his arms, and turned her eyes to Ron's. Charlie knew the look on her face well; Loren and Ron, when they were together, took it upon themselves to tease him mercilessly.

"Two hours, eh?" she reiterated, in the odd accent of her Canadian English, mischief lining her every word and her eyes sparkling with it. Ron grinned, and played along.

"Yeah, he couldn't decide between the brown dragonhide pants with the black shirt, or the black dragonhide pants with the grey shirt. I finally convinced him that he looked like a git no matter what he wore." Ron looked his way, his expression a mirror image of Loren's, and Charlie raised his finger in Ron's direction once again. "He's been having a real problem with that hand, today," Ron said, looking down at Charlie's hand and raising his eyebrows in mock wonder. Loren, who was accustomed to her boyfriend's retorts dissolved in a fit of giggles before raising her arms and linking them around Charlie's neck where her fingers came to rest in his hair.

"We're just teasing you, honey," she told Charlie whose face, with lips in a slight pout, and eyes large and pleading, resembled that of a puppy. She pulled his head down and drew his lips to hers, kissing him briefly. She pulled-away and immediately began laughing when Charlie's pout became even more pronounced so that she'd kiss him again. 

Ron looked away, something closely resembling jealousy gnawing at his insides. It was not that he was uncomfortable seeing Loren and Charlie act this way; in fact, he was accustomed to seeing this type of exchange between the two. Still, seeing them so happy with each other, so _in love_ only served to remind him that he was alone and that, like Charlie, there was only one woman whom he could see himself spending the rest of his life with. It was a pity, then, that said woman would probably never love him back.

Loren and Charlie broke apart after a few minutes, and Loren seemed to realise that Ron was less enthused than he had been a moment before. They were still standing in the entryway, and Charlie's arms were still about her waist. She glanced at Ron, and met his eyes, which had an ounce less sparkle than they'd held before. She was well versed in his female problems although they were the one area of Ron's life that he wasn't keen on discussing in detail with her; what she had gathered, she had done so from snippets that she'd heard from his family. Sensing that Ron was feeling uncomfortable, Loren broke away from Charlie's embrace and tactfully suggested that they move into the living room where they would be more at ease.

~*~

Lauren's apartment was just as stylish as the lobby and hallway had been, although its atmosphere was far from being as sterile. On the contrary, the second Ron had walked into the living room he got a sense of Loren's passion for life. The apartment was large, larger than the Weasleys could have ever hoped for, for the living quarters of just one person. It was a three-bedroom flat, but only two of the bedrooms served as such while the third was Loren's library and sitting room. The main living area, which off-set the kitchen, as tastefully decorated with comfortable chairs, a cream-coloured rug on the floor and more photographs than Ron had ever seen in a single room. There were shelves of them lining the walls, frames adorning almost every ounce of free space on tables, and even a few small ones on top of the television in the corner.

Ron walked to one of the walls and peered at a few of the frames: a _lot_ of the pictures were of Loren and Charlie, as Ron could have guessed, but several of them were also of the Weasley family. All had been taken with a Muggle camera (Ron seriously doubted that Loren's Muggle friends would have failed to notice photographs of moving people in her home), and Ron recognised pictures of a family picnic they'd had the first time Loren had come to stay at the Burrow. It had been the first time the Weasleys had met any of Charlie's girlfriends, and that was what had first tipped them off that Loren wasn't like the other women he'd dated. At that point they had been dating for six months, and Charlie had only just told Loren about his being a wizard. Ron smiled at the memory of Loren's discomfort when she had first been immersed in their magical world. He knew she must have been terrified, but she had handled herself extraordinarily well. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had loved her instantly.

"I remember that," Charlie said, standing behind Ron and looking at the picture over his shoulder. Ron turned and gave him a brief smile.

"Poor Loren, she mustn't have known what she was getting herself into," he laughed, also remembering how Charlie had threatened Fred and George with severe bodily harm if they did anything that would have scared Loren into leaving him. "Either that, or she's completely daft and hasn't come to her senses, yet," he teased some more.

"I don't remember any time I've been more afraid than when I had to meet your parents," Loren said, having come to stand by the two of them. "It didn't matter to me that everything I had ever grown-up to believe about magic was completely false, and that the world as I knew it was a complete lie. When Charlie asked me to fly down to London and meet all of you, I thought I would faint; I was shaking so badly," she said. 

"I know; when I first said hello to you, you looked as if you were about to throw up," Ron said, laughing. Loren and Charlie joined-in, and they were soon reminiscing about old times as they looked at the other pictures. Ron stopped again to look at a picture of him posing with Loren. That particular picture had been taken during the summer that had just gone by; it had been almost dusk, and the sun was starting to set behind the Burrow, casting an orange glow over everything. Ron's arm was around Loren's shoulder and they were both laughing. Loren's head was turned to look up at Ron, but Ron was looking just beyond the camera, at the person taking the picture. 

"You can have it, if you want," Loren said, interrupting Ron's train of thoughts, for which he was momentarily thankful. He was about to refuse Loren's offer; the words 'no thank you' were on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

"Thanks, Loren," he said instead, smiling sadly. She nodded and smiled back, a reassuring smile that told him that she understood what he was going through and was there if he needed her but wouldn't push the subject until he was ready to talk about it. Ron nodded, and accepted the picture frame without trepidation when Loren took it from the wall and handed it to him.

"Well," she said, this time addressing both Charlie and Ron, "dinner's just about ready. Why don't you two set the table?" and with that they followed her towards the kitchen, Ron waiting until she was out of ear shot before turning to Charlie.

"Is it safe, you think?" he whispered, referring to Loren's cooking which he had never actually experienced, but had heard several horror stories about.

"It should be; even I admit she's gotten better, although I would keep a glass of water next to your plate just in case," Charlie whispered back. 

"Do you guys want anything to drink?" Loren called as they began setting knives and forks on the table.

"Water," they both responded automatically, trying to keep the looks on their faces as neutral as they possibly could.

~*~

There was a five-hour time gap between England and Canada, and although it was only 7pm Eastern Time, it was midnight Greenwich Mean Time. Charlie, who was used to going to bed early due to his line of work, had fallen asleep almost immediately after supper. He had been completely jet-lagged, although the proper term was more like _key-lagged_. He presently lay curled-up on Loren's long couch where he had lain down when they had retired to the living room for after-dinner tea. He was covered by a fuzzy pink blanket that Loren had placed over him and that clashed severely with his red hair—the Weasley family trademark. His head lay in her lap where she lazily stroked his hair with one hand, while drinking from a steaming mug with the other. Charlie's hair hung over his collar in soft waves, and Loren had always referred to it as 'run your hands through' kind of hair. It was silky soft to the touch, and it smelled slightly spicy like a mix between cloves and cinnamon. He was snoring softly, and at this Loren smiled. She would never get tired of this, would never get tired of _him_. A look of tenderness momentarily overtook her features as she pulled the blanket more snugly around Charlie before she turned to Ron who was sitting in a lazy boy chair on her right. Dinner had gone well; the roast hadn't burnt, the vegetables hadn't been too soft, and the mashed potatoes hadn't had a single lump, nor did the gravy. She knew Charlie liked to complain about her cooking, but she really wasn't _that_ bad at it…although given Charlie's gourmet abilities, she did pale in comparison. Ron had asked for thirds, and had complimented her several times, almost as if he'd been surprised that she was no longer completely hopeless in the kitchen. She had to laugh at that, and made a mental note to say something to Charlie later.

"So tell me how you've been doing, Ron. I haven't seen Pig in at least a month; I'm starting to miss the little feather ball." It took Ron a few seconds to realise that she was addressing him, as he had been engulfed in the revelry that the chair reclined at the pull of a little lever in its side. He'd been in a good mood all through dinner, but as the night had progressed he had reverted back to his glum mood.

"What? Oh, things are fine, I guess. Harry and Ginny are dating now; actually they have been for months, but they only just worked up the courage to tell me. Harry actually thought I'd be upset that he was dating my baby sister, but of course I could see it coming," he told her. Ginny had actually told Loren of her relationship with Harry when Loren had flown to London over the summer, but she didn't dare mention this to Ron; instead, she urged him to go on. "Ginny's been mooning over Harry ever since she was ten, and of course I could see that Harry wasn't completely oblivious to her charms. I mean, every one could see it except them. It's about time they got their heads out of the sand, and saw things clearly."

Loren couldn't help but smile. She knew of at least two other people who were obviously completely infatuated with each other, and from what Charlie had told her, the entire Weasley clan were also of that opinion. They even had wagers placed on when the two would come to their senses, if it ever did happen at all. She had to bite down on her lower lip to stop herself from saying anything about it. She knew from experience that Ron was touchy about the subject of him and this other person as a couple. She had tried to talk to him about it once, when he was having an especially difficult spell of accepting his "best friend's" new boyfriend. Although he had been more receptive to her than to his family with the subject, he still refused to go into detail and she knew that the subject was still posing difficulties for him as she had witnessed when he had been looking at the photographs in the living room. It had been Hermione who had taken that picture. They had all been laughing at something she had said to Ron…Hermione had been teasing him as usual…and if you looked closely, the picture was just a bit askew because Hermione had been laughing so hard she'd had trouble keeping the camera straight.

"So, how's Hermione doing?" Loren asked Ron, instead of the million other questions she could think of. She felt a little bit badly about bringing up a subject she knew he deemed painful, but the reason Charlie had dragged him to see her, she knew, was because the Weasleys were worried about him: he had spent the last few months moping around aimlessly, and was regressing more and more as the days passed. Loren was not a big fan of abruptness, but she felt that this situation called for nothing else. She could almost guess the answer to her question when Ron visibly flinched at the sound of Hermione's name.

"Hermione and I are not exactly on speaking terms, right now," Ron told Loren, his voice strained. 

Loren bit back the urge to say 'what did you do now' and instead asked Ron, with a hint of amusement in her voice, "what happened?" She knew the Weasley men well, and Ron resembled Charlie in more than one way; like his brother, Ron had a knack of getting himself into situations that other men would have had no problem avoiding…it was a part of his charm, a naivete of sorts that Loren had found alluring when she'd met Charlie. Of course, there were only a few women in the world that could deal with this kind of ineptitude towards the opposite sex, and Loren knew that when it came to Ron, Hermione was the best woman for the job.

"Nothing I care to discuss, actually," Ron told her, a hint of stubbornness in his voice. He looked at Loren to gauge her reaction. She was giving him an 'I'm not impressed' look, the kind his mother gave him as a child when she was trying to get him to confess to something she already knew he was responsible for. "Oh, fine," he conceded, "Hermione's angry with me because she broke up with the wanker she's been dating." Loren was accustomed to Ron's colourful language, and though she was not a native of Britain, she had caught-on to much of the slang the British used. Words like 'wanker', 'bloody', and expressions like 'swamp donkey' and other imaginative descriptions of people were not new to her. It was a rare occurrence when Ron didn't write to Loren speaking badly about the latest of Hermione's suitors, and she wasn't surprised at the turn that this conversation seemed to be taking.

"She's angry with you because she broke up with him? That makes no sense, Ronald Weasley, what are you not telling me?" She had learned a long time ago that with the Weasley men there was _always_ something they were omitting. This was especially true for Fred and George, the twins, who seemed to get into trouble more often than any of the four other boys put together.

"Charlie never told me you were such a nag," Ron said bitterly; she knew him too well, and although he liked the fact that she didn't let Charlie get away with anything, his opinion differed drastically when it came to himself. Loren smiled and nodded, not fazed by Ron's behaviour. If all men were the same, the Weasley men were identical to one another: they all hated to admit they were wrong.

"I'll take that into consideration," she told him, biting down a smirk. Ron was much like a child…as was Charlie in many ways…and it was very difficult for Loren to remain neutral when she scolded either of them. She knew that in theory she shouldn't encourage their escapades, but at the same time, most of what they did was so ridiculously juvenile in nature that she often had to resist the urge to burst out laughing.

"Hermione is angry with me," he continued, albeit reluctantly, "because she says that the reason her relationship with _what's his arse_ didn't work out is that I sabotaged it by threatening to hex him." Ron looked down, a smile slowly appearing on his face—he was obviously guilty as charged.

"What exactly did you say to this, um, _what's his arse_?" Loren asked him, very amused by the whole situation but trying hard not to look too amused lest Ron think she actually condoned his behaviour. This would not be the first of Hermione's boyfriends to be scared away by an overprotective 'friend'.

"I was just doing my duty as a best friend," he defended himself. "I was merely giving him the perfunctory 'you hurt him, I hurt you' speech, you know. Harry wasn't around and _someone_ had to let him know whom he was dealing with. I really can't be held responsible if he took it to heart."

"And how exactly did you deliver this speech, Ron? Or do I want to know?" Loren asked, bracing herself. This promised to be rather interesting.

"Well," Ron said sheepishly, "I sort of told him that I had connections to the last Death Eaters and that if Hermione suffered as much as a paper cut because of him he would lead a lifetime of pain." He looked up for a split second, and his blue eyes met Loren's. Loren couldn't help it; this was too much for her. She burst-out laughing, and Ron followed suit. "It was worth it to see his face," Ron continued, gasping for breath, "he turned all pale, and excused himself from the dinner table, then went into the kitchen and gave Hermione a lame excuse and practically ran-out the door." They were both laughing so hard that they had tears running out the corners of their eyes. Loren was no witch, but she knew enough of the wizarding world to know about the fall of Voldemort and his followers—those who called themselves Death Eaters—she also knew Ron well enough to know that if anyone was furthest away from being such a person, it was he…anyone who took the time to speak to him for more than five minutes would surely realise this and that alone made what Ron told her even more amusing. 

Loren tried to laugh quietly so as not to wake Charlie who still slept beside her. She tried to control the hiccups that were racking her body as she attempted to catch her breath. Tears of mirth were pouring down her cheeks, and she had to keep her hand over her mouth so as not to make too much noise; still, after a few minutes, she felt Charlie's body lurch as he was awoken suddenly.

"Wha'? What's going on?" Charlie asked, sitting upright on the couch with a loud snort, his longish hair sticking-up in odd places. At this Ron and Loren only laughed more loudly. The disoriented look on Charlie's face was priceless. He was looking frantically to the sides, regaining his bearings, and as he realised where he was, he shot Loren and Ron a groggy, unimpressed look.

"We're sorry, honey," Loren told him, still giggling, though she knew Charlie would have a terrible time falling asleep again, "why don't you go lie down in my room, you'll be more comfortable." Loren's bedroom, which she shared with Charlie on weekends, was the furthest away from the kitchen and living room. She sensed that she and Ron would be up for a while, and at least Charlie would be less likely to be disturbed by their ramblings. Charlie seemed reluctant to leave at first; as people are sometimes irrational when they're tired, Charlie was doubly so. He scowled at Ron—though it was a half-hearted scowl as he yawned in the middle of it—for taking up all of his girlfriend's attention, and then proceeded to lean-down and kiss Loren lightly on the lips before staggering, still half-asleep, towards her bedroom, scratching his head and dragging the fuzzy pink blanket on the floor behind him. She smiled after him, and turned back to Ron who was wiping the tears off his cheeks and trying to catch his breath. He was used to his brother's temporary lapses of judgement and gave no second thought to his behaviour.

"That was the funniest thing I've seen in ages," Ron said, referring to Charlie, "a grown man who captures dragons for a living, but who looks just like a four year old child when he's asleep."

"Don't be so quick to talk, Ron, the two of you are a lot alike, probably more than you realise," Loren reprimanded him although she too saw the humour in the situation.

"Why's that?" Ron asked her, always game when it came to hearing embarrassing stories about his brothers. Years of torment from them when he was little had yielded in him an appetite for humiliating stories like he'd never possessed before.

"This whole thing with Hermione, the way you're strategically eliminating all the men in her life like the pieces on a chessboard," Ron went to interrupt but Loren put her hand up to silence him; she knew chess was one of Ron's favourite pastimes, and she used the analogy purposely, knowing it would make her point more easily. "Don't deny it, Ron. I understand you have your reasons, even though I'll admit that there are better ways to go about what you're trying to achieve. Still, it reminds me a lot of the way Charlie acted before we started dating. You Weasleys are awfully territorial when it comes to the women you care about."

"How exactly did Charlie act?" Ron asked, his curiosity piqued. Had he been less anxious to hear how Loren was going to connect this story to his behaviour, Ron would have probably rubbed his hands together and let out an evil laugh at the anticipation to hear a story of Charlie in a compromising situation.

"Hermione doesn't have any brothers you don't know about, does she?" Loren asked. Ron looked at her queerly, not exactly understanding where the question was coming from. He knew Loren to be an intelligent woman, and trusted that this rubbish about brothers was going to lead somewhere, so he didn't question her.

"No, she's an only child; why?" he answered.

"Let's just say that the circumstances under which Charlie and my brother met weren't the most ideal. Charlie saw us hugging, and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusions. Your dad had to conjure up a memory charm and a half to get my brother to forget all the awful things Charlie accused him of; and, of course, there was that extra arm growing out of the back of his head that had to be taken care of."

"What!?" Ron exclaimed, "Charlie never told me that!" That was, indeed, the first that Ron had heard of that story. Now that he thought about it, he could picture Charlie reacting that way quite easily. After all, had he not, just seconds ago, given Ron a look that could have frozen lava? For Charlie to think, even for a second, that his own brother was out to steal his girlfriend wasn't unheard of, but whereas a few years ago he would have gotten into an open brawl with anyone, Ron had to admit that he'd become surprisingly tamer over that past few years. Ron couldn't blame Charlie for being so protective of Loren, however; Ron knew that if he himself were dating someone as wonderful, he'd have an awfully hard time of not believing that the entire situation was a complete fluke and that it was only a matter of time before the woman came to her senses and realised she was dating a complete prat…he imagined that was the way Charlie felt about Loren, although from an objective standpoint, Ron knew just how crazy Loren was about his brother and that Charlie had absolutely nothing to worry about.

"Please don't tell him I told you, he's awfully embarrassed about the whole thing," Loren told him, catching the glint in Ron's eye. "But, after that happened, he finally learned to control his temper—something maybe you should consider doing when it comes to Hermione. I told him he could either trust me entirely, or he could never see me again. I was so scared that he would choose the latter. That's when I knew how much I loved him, when I was faced with the possibility of losing him. I hope you never feel like that, Ron, and that's why I think you should come clean to Hermione."

"I can't believe you thought Charlie would let you go. He may be a little mental, but he's not that daft. You're the best thing that's ever happened to him. You should see the way he looks at you. Frankly, it's a little nauseating." Ron thought it was actually kind of sweet, but never _ever_ would he admit to that—it would go against every manly principle he possessed.

"I bet it's the same way you look at Hermione, Ron. I know you hate this subject, and if you want me to drop it I will, really, but well I'm a psychologist. It's natural for me to want to know what you're thinking." Loren was a perceptive person; it didn't take an expert to know that Ron was absolutely nutters for Hermione, but she had never actually heard it come from his own mouth. If the first part to overcoming an addiction was to admit to having a problem, then the first step in Ron's overcoming his problems with Hermione was to admit that he had more than platonic feelings towards her.

"Why do I have the sense that you already know what I'm thinking?" Ron asked, his ears turning red at the notion. Loren _did_ have a _very_ good idea of what he was thinking, but she knew it _had_ to come from him if he was going to face the situation he was in. "What do you want me to tell you? That I'm crazy about Hermione? Well I am. Do you want me to tell you that every time I see her with a new guy it feels like part of me is being ripped to shreds? That every time she looks at me with those eyes, or corrects something I say, that starting a fight with her is the only way I know to stop myself from taking her into my arms and kissing her senseless? She's to me what you are to Charlie, Loren. He loves you like I love her, only you love him too. All I am to Hermione is a friend; she'll never look at me the way that you look at Charlie," he broke off, his voice a mere whisper. Loren could practically hear his heart breaking. She wanted nothing more than to sweep him in a protective hug, and reassure him that things would be alright, but she knew from experience that she couldn't do that. She hated having to act so cold and professional…treating Ron almost like she would treat a patient, but in this case she felt that she had no choice. She had to remain cool and composed, no matter that she felt the complete opposite. Her heart went out to him, it really did.

"Ron? Have you ever thought of telling Hermione what it is you just told me?" She asked him in her best clinical voice.

"You're jesting, right?" he asked, incredulous—not at her tone of voice, but at what it was she was asking him to do. He could _never_ tell Hermione how he felt. Sure, he'd thought about doing just that more times than he cared to remember, but one couldn't just waltz up to his best friend and announce that he was completely bonkers for her. Life just didn't work that way—plus he was scared stiff that she'd laugh in his face, or worst yet never speak to him again.

"No, I'm absolutely serious. Ron, you have known Hermione for almost twelve years; you've known me for two. If you can tell me, your brother's girlfriend, how you feel, then you can tell Hermione. She's your best friend, and you love her. She loves you too, you know that, but the only way you'll find out if she loves you the way you want her to is if you talk to her. Don't wait until it's too late." Ron looked at her with a mixture of incredulity and consideration. What Loren was telling him seemed completely crazy, much too crazy to actually work, but then again Ron never _had_ gotten around to understanding the opposite sex and Loren _did_ know what she was talking about. Just as those thoughts crossed Ron's mind, however, he dismissed them as yet another bout of temporary insanity. No, he just couldn't tell Hermione, it was much too risky.

"Loren?" he addressed her, trying to turn the subject away from where it was headed; he simply wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of the matter.

"Yeah, Ron?" she replied, afraid she may have gone too far.

"You're not 'just' my brother's girlfriend, you know. I kind of think of you like a second sister, only better because you can't tease me about what I tell you. Charlie would've been a git not to fall in love with you," he told her, his ears practically glowing at the somewhat corny revelation. "I'll think about what you said." He gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek, and muttered his goodnights before heading to the guest bedroom.

Loren looked at her watch. It was now well after eleven; they'd been talking for almost four hours. Locking the doors, and turning off the lights she made her way to her bedroom. Charlie woke up and slipped his arms around her as she slid under the covers.

"What were you and my baby brother talking about this whole time?" he asked her, his voice mirroring his pout as he nuzzled her neck.

Loren smiled, and replied "I think Ron has finally come to his senses concerning Hermione," she told him, nuzzling back. Charlie placed a kiss on her temple and tightened his arms around her.

"Hmmm, I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you," Charlie grinningly teased, before dodging a pillow aimed at his head and returning the attack with renewed alertness. Loren giggled and shrieked as their pillow fight turned into an all-out wrestling match, and they finally collapsed, Charlie on top of her and supporting himself on his forearms as they caught their breath, before he leaned-in and kissed her senseless.

~*~

Ron lay in bed, his arms crossed behind his head. He was thinking about Hermione—who else? She had possessed his every waking thought and dream since he'd realised that she was more than a friend—so much more. He thought about what Loren had told him; maybe she was right. Consciously, or not, Ron had always somehow gotten in the way of Hermione's relationships with men. He couldn't stand the idea of her in the arms of someone else, her kissing someone else's lips, her—well he didn't really want to think about that either. Surely she must have some idea of the way he felt for her? For four years, since they'd left Hogwarts, he'd made it a point of seeing her every free moment he had. They had dinner together every Sunday night (those were going to become significantly better now that the latest wanker was out of the picture) and he practically lived in her flat, he spent so much time there. Hermione never seemed to complain, though; it was as if she wanted to be around Ron as much as he wanted to be around her. Of course, to her he was just a friend.

Their friendship had escalated to a whole new level as they'd grown older. Sure, they remained the three musketeers: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Still, their individual friendships had evolved. Harry was like a brother to Ron; the fact that he was dating Ron's little sister didn't hurt either, and yet Ron still felt reserved around Harry. Ron still hadn't told Harry about his feelings for Hermione, although he had a strong suspicion that, like Loren, Harry knew something was going on but said nothing out of respect for Ron. 

Harry and Hermione both worked at the Ministry, and both shared information that Ron usually wasn't privy to; he was sometimes jealous of their work relationship, and the late nights they would sometimes spend working on a project, but he conceded that if he couldn't trust Harry (who he would beat to a bloody pulp if he ever did anything to hurt his sister, anyway) then he couldn't trust anyone. He thought of some of their Hogwarts school mates: Parvati and Lavender, Seamus and Dean—the last he had heard they didn't even speak to each other anymore, their friendships having failed the test of time. If he thought about it, most of the people who had been inseparable in their childhood days barely had time for each other, now. There had to be a reason that Harry, Hermione, and he were still together, then.

Maybe sharing so many near-death experiences somehow brought people closer to one another, Ron thought, smiling. The defeat of Lord Voldemort certainly had taken its toll on all of them; Harry had ended up unconscious in the hospital wing for nearly a month, both Ron's legs had needed mending, and Hermione had suffered several gashes including one just above her left eye that had left a minute scar which you could see only if you knew to look for it. Ron smiled; there were only two things that he was certain about in his life. One was the fact that he loved Hermione above all else in the world, the other was that no matter what happened, Harry and Hermione would always stand by him just as he would always stand by them. He had to know; Loren was right, Hermione and he had been friends for twelve years. He had to tell her how he felt before it was too late; it would be worst for him never to be able to tell her what she meant to him than it would be to know that she didn't feel the same way. They would always be friends, but if there was some chance for them to be more, Ron had to take it.

The sound of muffled giggles reached him from the next room, and Ron smiled a bit. He had no desire whatsoever to know exactly what his brother and Loren were doing, but whatever it was they were having the time of their life. Ron had imagined Hermione and him happy like that so many times that on some occasions it felt so real to him that he had to remind himself that it was only wishful thinking. Maybe one day they really _would_ be as close as Charlie and Loren were, but if he did nothing to help the situation along, there was little chance of that happening. _Nothing ventured, nothing gained_ a voice in his head whispered, and Ron sighed. _Once a fool, always a fool_ another voice retorted, bent on keeping Ron's spirits low.

"Shut up," Ron said, addressing both voices even though he knew they were in his head. There was something about hearing voices that no one else could hear…hadn't he warned Harry about just that once upon a time?

"Bugger, Hermione really _is_ driving me crazy," he spoke again. There was something very liberating about being able to talk to oneself, of course it was also slightly disturbing. Ron punched his pillow a few times to fluff it up, and buried his head underneath it drowning out both errant giggles and unwelcome voices as he tried in vain to get some sleep. Loren was right…he had to say something before he went _completely_ crazy.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N The second chapter, everyone; as I don't really remember where I had cut-off my original chapters, this one will have less divisions than the original, I think, but it's still all here with just slightly longer chapters is all.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 2

When Ron woke up that morning he felt more at ease than he had in weeks. Coming to the decision that he would talk to Hermione and come clean about his feelings for her had lifted a weight off his chest that had been there for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like not to have it there. He was once again his cheery self as he made his way to the kitchen where Loren was presently reading the newspaper. Charlie was nowhere in sight; he was probably in the sitting room looking at Loren's collection of Muggle books. Charlie had always been good at school; it was no wonder Hermione and he got along so well despite their age difference. They had met for the first time in the summer of Ron's third year at the Quidditch World Cup but hadn't really gotten to know each other then. Even Ron hadn't been all that close to Charlie then, but he supposed that as he got older and matured, their relationship had gotten stronger. Over the years, Hermione and Charlie had gotten almost as close as Ron and Loren were, except of course for the fact that Loren was Charlie's girlfriend and Hermione was _not_ Ron's.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Loren greeted him and handed him a cup of thick brown sludge—something Muggles liked to call coffee—and he drank it down in one gulp, his face screwing up at the bitter taste. "You're up late," Loren remarked, looking at the flashing numbers on a nearby digital clock. It was nearly eleven, which was actually incredibly early for Ron who usually slept-in much later.

"Late? This is what I call early; besides, I had a bit of a hard time sleeping," he said. Loren looked worried for a second.

"Were you thinking about Hermione?" she asked him, concerned, but Ron shook his head.

"I kept waking up to some very suspicious giggling coming from the next room." Ron told her, a teasing grin crossing his face; he knew he'd hit pay dirt when Loren's face turned a deep shade of crimson. She was so easy to embarrass, it was obvious she'd only grown up with a younger brother rather than five older ones. Ron laughed at her discomfort. "Just so you know, miss psychologist, I'm scarred for life," he told her, still smiling at how deeply she was blushing, and at how she was averting his eyes. Charlie chose that particular moment to walk into the room with a bounce in his step.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, looking and sounding particularly chipper, he completed the package by beginning to whistle.

"Apparently," Ron remarked, winking at Loren and only succeeding in making her blush more. If Loren sunk any lower into her chair, she would be sitting on the floor. "So, old chap, how'd you sleep?" he asked his brother, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Charlie looked back and forth between his girlfriend's flushed face and his youngest brother's not so subtle body language, quickly getting the drift.

"Oh, sod-off Ron," Charlie said, with an even wider grin than before. He bent down to kiss Loren on the lips, and whispered something in her ear. Loren's face became redder than Ron thought was even possible before she turned around and busied herself in fixing Charlie a cup of coffee, making a show of stirring in milk and sugar to Charlie's taste.

"Loren, do you mind if I grab a quick shower before we go back?" Ron called to her over Charlie's shoulder.

"Not at all, Ron," she told him, turning briefly to face him; at least her face was back to a seemingly normal colour. "Everything's ready for you in the bathroom. You know the way," she told him, taking a sip of Charlie's coffee to verify its taste before handing it to her boyfriend.

"Alright, then; I'll see you in a bit. Do try to behave yourselves while I'm gone," he said, not able to resist just one last stab at the woman who would surely be his sister someday.

He made his way to the bathroom, hearing a muffled "I am so embarrassed" behind him. He risked a peek and chuckled at seeing Loren's face buried in Charlie's chest, her hands over her face. Charlie put his arms around her and placed a kiss on the top of her head, but even he was trying to hold back a chuckle. Loren noticed and slugged him slightly, muttering something that Ron didn't catch as it was muffled by Charlie's shirt. Ron smirked mischievously before continuing on to the bathroom. In the shower, he let the hot water wash over him for several minutes as he thought of what he would do when he got back to England. He knew Loren was right, and as scared as he was, he was a man with a mission now.

~*~

Ron took a deep breath before knocking on the front door of Hermione's flat. When Charlie and he had left Loren's apartment that morning, Loren had given him a hug and whispered her good lucks to him with the threat that if she didn't see Pigwidgeon soon with details of how it had gone, that she'd personally go all the way to London to lecture him. How was it that she always knew what Ron was thinking? Sometimes Ron could swear that Loren had a bit of a psychic side to her even though he knew the idea to be ridiculous. Either Loren was incredibly perceptive or Ron was just incredibly transparent. He smiled at the thought…so Loren was certain that Ron was finally going to come clean to Hermione. Well, Ron couldn't disappoint her, now could he? Besides, he knew that if he didn't say something soon, that he might never have the courage to say anything at all. Ron took another deep breath. His courage was quickly failing him.

"Hermione, you in there?" he asked, knocking once more and crouching down to peer in the mail slot. He thought he could hear Hermione inside, but couldn't see her. He opened the mail slot a bit more widely and squinted…all he could see was the wooden floor of her flat and some haphazard books spread about. Hermione hadn't changed even after all these years of being out of school…she still always had her nose buried in a book. Ron called out again and heard a soft mutter as he shut the mail slot and began to dress himself up. He had to move quickly to avoid being knocked unconscious as the door violently swung open. He straightened abruptly, a scowl on his face. "What'd you do that--" he started before realising that there wasn't actually anyone standing at the door. With a frown on his face he looked at the numbers hidden behind the door. Yes, this _was_ the right flat…what was going on? "Hermione?" he asked, walking into the flat's living room, stepping over books and magazines. Hermione was the most organised person Ron knew, but when one owned several hundred books, one only had so much room to store them all. Hermione had used-up her allotted wall-space and shelf space a long time ago. Now she was forced to stack books up wherever there was spare floor room. She had once asked Ron if he would let her keep some of her books at his own flat, but had quickly realised that it might not be the greatest idea; like most men, Ron wasn't the greatest of housekeepers.

"Is that you, Ron?" he heard Hermione ask from the kitchen; he answered in the affirmative, shutting the door behind him. "Well do me a favour, and go away will you? I'm still not talking to you," she told him, her voice edgy. Ron completely ignored her request and walked into the kitchen, greeted by the most bizarre sight he had ever seen when it came to Hermione.

"What ARE you doing?" he asked her, frowning as he watched her on all fours, madly scrubbing the floors with a bristled brush. Her wild brown hair was messier than usual, and a large portion of it was hiding her face. She was wearing typical clothes, a pair of jeans and soft pink jersey knit top that, although they were not in the least bit tight or revealing, gave Ron shivers. Even then, she looked breathtaking to him.

"What does it look like I'm doing, you twit?" she asked, her voice harsh; she was obviously still angry with him and apparently she had been at this for a while. The entire kitchen gleamed like Ron had never seen it gleam. Hermione was indeed organised and she was neat but never to an extreme. She liked things clean, but never to this degree…at least not on any normal bases, and that could only mean one thing. Something was obviously very wrong; Hermione always went into fits of cleaning when she was upset and the fact that she was doing it without magic, essentially reverting back to her Muggle ways, was indication that she was particularly irked.

"Hermione," Ron started. She was still scrubbing the floor, although not as vigorously as she had been a minute ago. The floor was dry, and only the spot that Hermione had been scrubbing was wet. Ron took a few steps cautious steps in the room. It looked as if she'd been scrubbing that one small expanse of floor for a good while.

"What?" Hermione asked in a tone so bitter, Ron flinched. He walked more closely towards her, and dropped to his knees, placing one hand on her wrist to stop her from wearing a hole in the linoleum.

"What's wrong? Surely you're not cleaning because of what I said to good old Shawn," he said the name with an edge of disgust. Shawn was the name of _'what's his arse'_. "That was three days ago; what happened to make you this angry?" Ron asked, becoming a little bit worried. Hermione had gotten angry with him before, and the worst it had ever gotten was that fateful row they'd had in third year when they hadn't spoken to each other for nearly two months. Since then, however, their fights had never ever lasted more than a week. Ron hated to admit it but he just couldn't stay mad at her for more than five minutes and even though he was just as stubborn as he'd always been, his humility usually took a back seat to his desire to see Hermione and he usually apologised within a few days although by then, the row had already been forgotten. Maybe it was wishful thinking on Ron's part, but it seemed as if Hermione too was less likely to hold grudges against him these days. When, after a few minutes, Hermione still hadn't answer Ron's question, he became even more ill at ease. She hadn't looked at him, and Ron couldn't see what she was thinking because of her bloody hair hiding her face. He made a gesture to brush it out of his way but before his hand had made contact, Hermione spoke.

"Leave me alone, Ron Weasley. I don't want to talk about it," she told him. Her voice sounded oddly congested, as if she'd been crying. The anger was no longer there, but Ron now wished it would return. He could deal with Hermione being angry with him, what he couldn't deal with was seeing her distraught over something he couldn't fix. Determined to get to the bottom of this, he tenderly took her chin between thumb and forefinger and lifted it, forcing her to look at him. His worst fears were confirmed whe he saw that she had tears streaking down her face. Her hair was still in the way, blocking Ron's view of her eyes, and he pushed it aside, tucking it behind her ears. The strands were soft between his fingers and even from where he was he caught the faint aroma of the shampoo she had used that morning. Ron shut his eyes for a moment, wishing that somehow all of this could be different, but when he opened them up again and saw Hermione's red, swollen eyes, and the streaks on her cheeks, the sight of her in such distress was like a swift kick in the gut; all he wanted to do then was make her pain go away.

"Hermione?" he asked, wiping away a tear with his thumb. It wasn't the first time he'd comforted her while she was crying, but every time he was in a situation like this he felt even more helpless than the last. Hermione's cheek was like silk under Ron's palm, and he longed to draw her face to his and kiss her troubles away. The tenderness Ron exuded towards her and his tender gesture were just too much for Hermione, however, and she broke down once again, burying her face in Ron's neck and letting the tears fall anew. Ron's arms instinctively wrapped around her and held her there until she was ready to speak. This was the position they had found themselves in every time one of Hermione's relationships had failed. For some reason she never went to Harry for these things, but always to Ron. When her father had suffered a minor heart attack, two years before, it was Ron that she had called in the middle of the night, sobbing, and it was he who had gone with her to the hospital, who had assured her when she had been afraid to walk into the critical care unit that just because her father was sick he was by no means a different person. Ron held her then, and was reminded of all those times and like the night before a feeling came over him, a knowledge of sorts that this was where he was supposed to be and that out of all the uncertainties in his life, Hermione was the one thing he _knew_ was right.

"Oh, it was horrible, Ron," Hermione told him between sobs, getting control of her emotions. Her voice was slightly muffled, her face buried in the crook of Ron's shoulder. Ron could feel her tears starting to make their way through the thin shirt he was wearing, could feel their warm dampness slowly seep through the fabric, over his heart. "Everybody thought—they all said—and Harry was out--" she started, not making any sense.

"Shh, tell me what happened," Ron whispered soothingly, not resisting the urge to place a kiss in her hair, breathing in the scent that would always remind him of her. His arms wrapped around her more tightly, the instinct to protect her stronger than Ron had ever felt it.

"Shawn told everyone--" she started, but didn't finish as Ron interrupted her, her words breaking the trance he'd been in as his temper got the better of him. He didn't wait to hear what else she had to say; she had said the name that he hadn't wanted to hear. She knew, somehow, that Shawn had hurt her, and just as Ron had always intervened when Malfoy had taunted her, the urge to protect her from her ex-boyfriend was stronger than the urge to comfort her. Anger had won over compassion yet again.

"WHAT?" he shouted, his eyes opening. He let go of Hermione, who slumped to the floor surprised at being released so quickly. Ron stood up, and began pacing the kitchen, his face becoming red as he fumed. "Why the bloody wanker, the--" he yelled off a string of curses. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he'd practically forgotten that Hermione was even in the room.

"Ron, wait; listen," Hermione said, standing up and trying to get through to him, but Ron was in such a fit of rage that he didn't hear her. He was still pacing, oblivious to Hermione whose tears had by now subsided. She looked at Ron with a mixture of worry and annoyance; she had told him time and time again that he should control his temper, and if there was any time where she really needed for him to listen to her it was now. "Ron, please stop it," she pleaded, her voice cracking as more tears threatened to fall. Ron either did not hear her or did not let his anger subside enough to respond. He wasn't angry with her, it was true, but whenever his temper got the better of him, he was simply impossible to be around.

"I'm going to kill him." He stopped in the middle of the room, placing his arms on her shoulders and looking into Hermione's eyes. "I'm going to find him, I'm going to torture him, and then I'm going to kill him," he promised her, and Hermione could see that he was perfectly serious. She tried to say something, and opened her mouth but all she could do was gape at him like a goldfish out of water, her gaze captivated by his blue eyes. How many times had she looked into those eyes she didn't know, but never before had she realized just how beautiful his eyes really were. Hermione was reminded of her situation when Ron squeezed her shoulders slightly. The anger that had been on his face moments before had lessened a little and a look of longing replaced it; placing a brief kiss on Hermione's lips, Ron turned and walked out the door without a backwards glance. Hermione stood dumbstruck for a second…had he just _kissed_ her? He surely had never done _that_ before. Hermione pressed her lips together to assure herself that, yes, she really _had_ just been kissed by her best friend of twelve years. Convinced that she wasn't dreaming, Hermione shook herself…then ran after Ron.

She was too late; Ron had already disapparated. He could be anywhere, and worst yet who knew what he would do. He had threatened to kill Shawn, and for the first time in her life Hermione was afraid that he was really going to go through with it. She had never seen him that angry, had never seen him lose his temper to that extent. He had been so volatile, he might explode if he really were to run into Shawn. Hermione, frightened to tears at what might happen if Ron didn't get control of his temper, ran back into her apartment, and threw some powder into the fireplace. Harry's face appeared a few seconds later.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked, seeing the stricken look on her face. His first question would have been to ask her how it was that she knew to summon him at Ginny's flat, but the matter was quickly forgotten when he saw her puffy red eyes and her body shaking. "What is it? Is it Ron?" he asked, a little bit more worried now. Hermione didn't usually call him when she was upset; even if she happened to be furious with Ron it was still him whom she turned to at times like these.

"He's really gone and done it this time, Harry," she said, her voice shaking as badly as her body. She just couldn't seem to get control of the shivers. She briefly recounted what had happened, and managed to do so without breaking down completely; she'd never been this worried in her life, not even when they'd faced the Dark Lord.

"I'll be right over," Harry promised when she'd concluded. If he was shocked, he didn't say anything, but his expression had become significantly more grim after Hermione had finished.

Harry was true to his word, and within minutes he was standing in the middle of Hermione's living room, a little sooty and slightly the worst for wear. He hated travelling by Floo Powder, but apart from Apparating, which he didn't want to risk what with Hermione's books changing places all the time (he'd learned this the hard way), it was simply the quickest way to get to Hermione's. He replaced his glasses, and tried to calm Hermione who was pacing furiously. He'd never seen her that worried before. She had always been the model of composure…except of course where school was concerned.

"Oh, that Ron," she was muttering angrily, "always jumping to conclusions--wouldn't even let me finish what I was saying--couldn't even wait two seconds for me to finish, and now he's out God knows where, doing God knows what to God knows whom," she continued, speaking to herself. She suddenly stopped pacing, and brought the tips of her fingers to her lips. Harry frowned, not knowing just what that meant, but he decided not to ask. "Oh, Harry, we have to find him before he does anything stupid," Hermione exclaimed as if suddenly realising that Harry was there. Harry was confused, she'd been furious before, but now she looked exhausted, worried, almost dejected.

"Have you no idea where he was headed when he left?" Harry asked, hopefully even though he knew that given Hermione's state it would be difficult to get any straight answers from her.

"Well I suppose he might have gone to try and find Shawn, you know, that _would_ make it easier to kill him," she replied sarcastically and rolled her eyes.

"Right," Harry said, ignoring Hermione's outburst, "well a simple location spell should do it," he continued. Hermione, surprised at why she hadn't thought of that, burst into tears and threw herself into Harry's arms, thanking him. Much as Ron had done in third year, Harry awkwardly put his arms around her and pat her on the head. 

"We have to find him Harry; if we don't, and if something happens to him—" she broke off, extracting herself from Harry who looked a little uncomfortable but who tried his best to assure her.

"We will, Hermione, we will," he told her, smiling briefly before reaching into his robes and pulling-out his wand.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 3

The streets of London were dark, and wet; it was raining something fierce Ron had been soaked to the bone within minutes of Apparating in an alley, but he would worry about that later. Right now he was too preoccupied with finding the bloody arse who had made Hermione cry; sure, he didn't actually know where to start looking having no idea of where Shawn happened to live, but when one is angry, one's head doesn't usually function to full capacity and Ron's fury was such that it reminded him of all the times he had wanted to kill Malfoy back in the day. The major difference between Ron's days at Hogwarts and his life now was that the anger he'd felt back then didn't even compare to what he felt now. He didn't know what exactly he would do when he found Shawn although beating him to a bloody pulp would probably come into play. Telling Hermione that he was going to kill him had been a little extreme, Ron was the first to admit it, but he had been taken-over by a jealous rage. How dare that bloody tagnut spread nasty rumours about Hermione around the office…how dare he even _dream_ of hurting her like that? Sure, Ron didn't really know what Shawn had said _exactly_, but he knew that Hermione had been terribly upset by it. The look on her face would have been enough to stop any man in his tracks. She had been so heartbroken, so desolate. Ron could still hear her heart-wrenching sobs as she'd cried on his shoulder and could feel his own heart breaking in response. If he hadn't known how much he loved her before, he would have been a fool not to know now. Ron would have given his right arm to make her stop crying, would have taken his own life if it could mean taking the hurt away from her, and perhaps that's why he was acting like a bit of a git right now. Whoever said love was simple was out of his mind, Ron thought. 

Admitting to himself that he loved Hermione had been the hardest thing he'd ever done and living with the knowledge that he loved her while she thought of him as a brother had practically ripped his heart to pieces. If he couldn't be with her, then the least he could do was make sure she was happy. _She'd be happiest with you_, a voice inside his head told him, but Ron ignored it. He'd had enough of wishful thinking, enough of pretending that maybe she might love him back. He'd wished on so many stars he doubted there were any left; he'd dreamed so many dreams where he and Hermione were together, happy, in love, that he was all dreamed out. This was reality, now. Wishful thinking hadn't gotten him anywhere, and dreaming had only caused him to oversleep. He had to face the facts: Hermione didn't love him. He had thought it possible to be able to tell her how he felt, had been determined to do it earlier, but then his world had crumbled around him. 

He'd never seen her so upset, never seen her cry so hard, and the reason she was crying was because of another man. Shawn's words hadn't been the source of her tears, at least not totally; he knew Hermione better than that. If what he'd said had been the only thing upsetting her she would have gotten back at him, she would have gotten angry, not sad. No, if she had been crying it had been because of Shawn himself…had she truly cared about him? Had she really _loved_ him and was crying over the fact that she'd lost him? Ron had no idea of the answers to any of those questions but he knew one thing for certain, and that was that he'd never seen Hermione cry like that over something that _he_ had ever done to her. She had never broken down like that over something that _he_ had ever said, and if there was one thing that hurt more than maybe everything else put together it was to know that he didn't have that kind of effect on her, that he never would.

Ron walked a bit more further, not really seeing where he was going, not really caring either way. The world didn't make sense any more. Hermione had been the one thing he _knew_ he wanted, and now she was the one thing he was certain he _couldn't _have because her heart didn't belong to him…it belonged to a man who didn't even realise what he'd held, what he'd given up. Ron was suddenly thankful for the torrent of rain and for the darkness around him as the tears that had threatened to spill over so many times before finally broke through. He didn't try to hold them back, knew that it was no use. He cried silently, his fists clutched by his sides. He cried for himself, for the fact that he would never love anyone as much as he loved Hermione, for the fact that he didn't _want_ anyone else, the fact that he'd rather lead a life alone than settle for someone who wasn't her. He cried for all he knew he'd lost, cried until he had no tears left and after his body had stopped shaking, after the sobs had subsided, he stood in the middle of the street. His head was bent as he let the rain wash over him, leaving him cold and shivering, feeling completely empty inside. He heard a door open to his right, heard some stray laughter coming from inside a pub. Ron ignored the sounds at first, too tired to care anymore but he finally lifted his head, water pouring from his hair and into his eyes. He wiped it away, and looked towards the sounds that had alerted him that he was no longer. He didn't understand what he was seeing at first, but there he was—Shawn—the man that had taken everything from him. The latter was obviously somewhat inebriated; he was alone, walking crookedly along the street, hiccuping every few seconds, oblivious to Ron's presence. A rage unlike any he had ever experienced washed through Ron, and he roared as he charged towards the man. 

Any thought of magic was gone as Ron tackled the object of his destruction; he was reacting on pure animal instinct, his first punch landing across Shawn's jaw, sending him staggering into the ground. The sight of blood oozing from a gash in Shawn's lip brought little comfort to Ron, and he was able to land two more to the man's face before a pair of powerful arms pulled him off.

"Oi, Ron!" Harry's voice sounded in his ears but it took a few seconds before Ron registered who it was. "That's enough!" Harry continued, restraining a struggling Ron who was trying his absolute hardest to continue his assault on Shawn. From within the corner of his eye, Ron caught a glimpse of Hermione, however and immediately stopped struggling.

"Let me go, Harry," he whispered, to Harry who still had a tight grip on him, worried no doubt that it was merely a fake-out so that he might pounce on Shawn again…Ron had used it enough with Malfoy that Harry knew to expect it, but Ron's tone of voice made it clear to Harry that he'd regained control. Harry let go of Ron who took a few steps and slowly walked to stand directly in front of Hermione. She was just as soaked as he was and he could see her eyes were still red and swollen from when she'd cried, but the glimmer in her eyes from unshed tears showed him that she hadn't stopped weeping since he'd last seen her. Ron flinched in surprise as he felt the sting of her palm on his cheek, but he welcomed the pain that followed the slap if it could somehow succeed in overshadowing what he felt inside.

"He was going to propose," Hermione revealed, somewhat bitterly. "He told everybody he wanted to marry me. I walked into the office today to loads of congratulations, and balloons to find out that he had planned on proposing to me at dinner on Friday, but changed his mind. I had to pretend to know all about it; I had to come up with some lame excuse and proceed to sit through work all day with people staring at me out of pity. 'Poor Hermione, dumped by yet another guy;' 'poor Hermione, surely she'll never find anyone at this rate'," Hermione took a deep breath, and looked Ron in the eye trying as hard as she could to be strong, but her bottom lip quivering nonetheless. When she spoke to him, her voice cracked and a tear rolled down her cheek where it mingled with the raindrops already there. "All I needed from you tonight was a little support. All I wanted was for you to tell me that things would be all right, but you had to let your temper get the best of you again; you had to jump to conclusions. I – I don't think I can be around you, anymore, Ron. I think that this friendship has gone as far as it can go," she whispered. "I was scared of you, Ron; I've never been scared of you in my entire life, not even when I thought you hated me. I can't be with you like this, Ron; I can't stand having to walk on eggshells around you because you might lose your temper the next second. I just can't," she said, the tears falling freely now. 

Hermione turned away, but Ron reached a hand out to her. "Hermione," he began, but she interrupted him.

"No, Ron. It's too late for that, now," she told him, moving out of his reach. Her voice was so steady, so quiet despite her tears, but she couldn't look him in the eye. Ron would have done anything right then to have her shout at him. At least when she was shouting he knew she was angry. Right now, she looked so weary, so dejected; it was as if she'd lost her best friend. Ron couldn't help but smile sadly at the irony of it all—she _had_ lost her best friend, and that could only mean that he'd lost her too. He'd really done himself in this time. When Hermione turned to leave for the last time, Ron didn't try to stop her. She'd Disapparated a moment later.

"Give her a few days," Harry told him, having come to stand behind him. Ron looked around him in a daze; Shawn was nowhere to be seen which meant that Harry had probably cleaned him up and sent him on his way while Hermione had been busy destroying his reason for living.

"I don't think so, Harry," Ron muttered, his hands in his pocket as he looked at the ground, oblivious to the rain that was now pouring even harder than it had earlier. "I've gone too far this time, Harry; she won't forgive me. I've lost her," he said, feeling just as dejected as Hermione had looked.

"I'll talk to her," Harry said, the eternal optimist, the peacemaker in the group. Ron smiled sadly, and nodded, knowing that even Harry wouldn't be able to fix things this time.

~*~

Loren Chapman was surprised to hear a knock at her door in the middle of the night, let alone open her door at what her alarm clock had told her was 2am and find Ron standing on the other side, soaking wet. It was by no means raining outside, and Loren was going to make a crack about him falling into a lake when she saw the look on his face. He looked as if his dog had just died. She opened the door more widely in a wordless invitation, aware that he would talk when he was ready. Ron walked in, thankful for the silent support, and Loren steered him to the guest bedroom where she took-in his dishevelled appearance from the welt forming on his cheek to his bloody knuckles. She left the room and returned with towels, and one of Charlie's sweaters and slacks. She handed the small pile to him, her eyes sympathetic.

"Here," she said, and squeezed Ron's upper arm lightly before leaving the room to let him change. He did not remain in the room long, and emerged a few minutes later. Loren, who was waiting outside the door, took him into the living room, handing him a package of frozen peas. She ignored the fact the clothes she had given him were several sizes too small for him and pointed him to the chair he had sat in the night before. "Put this on your face," she told him in an authoritative, but compassionate voice. Ron obeyed, too tired to argue and winced when the cold package came into contact with his cheek, which was still warm from being hit. "Let me see your hand," Loren directed next, taking Ron's right hand tenderly into her own, and proceeding to bandage the swollen, bleeding knuckles. She fetched another ice pack, frozen carrots this time, and put it over the bandage she'd just made. It took Ron a few minutes to look up from staring at the floor; he was still disoriented. He didn't know what had made him go to Loren instead of to Charlie or one of his other brothers. Harry had offered to let him stay with him, but Ron could tell that Harry would have rather spent the night with Ginny. Ron had already been enough of a nuisance to his friend, he didn't want to impose more than he already had, and he knew that his brothers just wouldn't understand. The only person who knew of his history with Hermione was Loren; going to her had been an act of pure desperation on Ron's part, but he was thankful that she was so understanding. More than ever, he knew that Charlie had made the perfect choice in finding her. Ron looked-up from his bandaged hand and he met Loren's worried gaze in a silent thank you, the light having disappeared from his eyes. 

"I—she--" he tried, but his voice cracked and he couldn't go on. Loren nodded in sympathy, and kneeled in front of him, placing her hand on his knee.

"I'll make up the extra bed; we can talk in the morning," she whispered.

"Thanks," Ron replied, the tears starting up again, but he quickly suppressed them with an awkward swallow and deep, shaky breath. Loren stood slightly and kissed his temple, stroking his hair gently like his mother used to do when he was a child. She left the room to make up the extra bed at which Ron smiled bitterly – what was the use? He wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway; he'd never be able to do anything ever again.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 4

Loren had cancelled her morning appointments that day, sensing that Ron needed her more than any of her patients. She was up at dawn, as was her custom on weekdays, reading the newspaper. Her breakfast that day had consisted of a lot of peas and carrots. She hated wasting food, and the vegetables needed to be eaten now that they had been thawed. She didn't expect Ron to be up so early when he walked into the kitchen, shortly after six. He'd always struck her as a man who liked to take things in stride, one who didn't worry too much about what time he got up as long as he got things done. His job as sports editor at the Daily Prophet allowed him the kind of freedom that Loren knew he needed, so when he walked into that kitchen, his face gaunt and expressionless, at barely 7am, Loren knew that what Ron was going through stemmed much deeper than she had originally imagined.

Last night when he had shown up at her doorstep he had been on the verge of a complete breakdown. He had been holding back tears, hadn't been able to speak more than a few words. This morning, did not find him in a much improved state; he looked like an empty shell. Ron's body was standing in front of her, but its soul had taken an extended vacation, so to speak. Ron's blue eyes, usually so full of life and mischief had lost their light and his mouth was drawn in a thin line; he sat limply at the table across from her, his hands motionless on the oak top.

Loren, who was a psychologist and dealt with distraught people on a daily basis, was at a loss for words. She wanted to say something, anything, to rescue Ron from his trance, but knew that any word that came out of her mouth would be inadequate, awkward at best. She poured him a cup of coffee, instead, and placed it in front of him. Ron stared at the tabletop for a long time before emerging from his thoughts. He smiled at her slightly, and picked-up the cup although he didn't drink from it. The warmth of the warm mug contrasted strongly with the chill that had set in his bones since last night. His hands were like ice, so cold that even the nail beds were beginning to take on a bluish appearance. He had been caught by uncontrollable shivers the night before, and as he'd suspected hadn't been able to sleep at all. He had dozed a little bit before Loren had woken-up but his dreams had been so fitful that within minutes he was sitting-up in a cold sweat, trying to catch his breath. Ron rotated the coffee cup in his hands; the porcelain had become almost scaldingly hot but Ron didn't seem to notice the pain as long as he felt _something_. It seemed as if the only thing he _could_ feel was pain. Ron sat there in silence for a few more minutes, not noticing that Loren seemed to be reading the same article, if not the same line, since he'd walked-in the kitchen. What Ron didn't know was that Loren had quietly been observing him this whole time, her heart breaking at the sadness radiating from him.

"Thank you, Loren." Ron spoke quietly and Loren jumped at the sound of his voice. It was still surprisingly smooth although Loren didn't know why she'd expected it to be hoarse or craggy. There was no covering the grief in his tone, however.

"For what?" she asked, quizzically. She was surprised at Ron's thanks because in a way she felt responsible for what had happened to him. She still did not know what had happened between him and Hermione the night before but she couldn't help but feel that if she hadn't pressured Ron to reveal his feelings for Hermione that he would not have had his heart broken. 

"For not saying anything, for waiting until I was ready to tell you, and not trying to pressure me, for last night and not asking any questions when I know I was a mess; for being here for me." Ron told her, though his voice was barely above a whisper. He tried to smile and make light of everything, but it was as if half-way through the process that made his lips curve upwards, he gave up, not seeing the point in his trying to appear happy when he couldn't fathom ever experiencing the sensation again. His face reverted to the impassive mask it had adopted, but his eyes betrayed everything he felt.

"You're welcome, Ron," Loren responded in the same tone that Ron had employed; she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of his, a wave of sisterly protectiveness washing through her. Ron squeezed her hand slightly in return, meeting her gaze straight on for the first time that morning. He took a deep breath and motioned for them to go into the living room, leaving his coffee cup on the table; he wasn't very hungry or thirsty for the first time in his life. Ron walked into the living room and came to stand between the armchair he'd sat in yesterday, and the sofa that Charlie and Loren had sat on. He frowned as if not being able to decide which he should use.

"Do you want me to lie down?" he asked her, still frowning, referring to being treated like one of her patients. Under ordinary circumstances, the situation might have been construed as humorous, and Loren might even have teased about Ron's occasional spurts of naivete, but at the moment comedy was the furthest thing from either of their minds. Loren came to stand beside Ron, and put and soothing hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. 

"You're not one of my patients, Ron, and I don't want you to feel as if you are. I'm here for you because I want to be, not because I have to be," she told him firmly. Ron nodded in response and opted for the same chair he had used two nights before, Loren reprising her previous position on the sofa. Neither said anything for a few minutes, and Loren, as if sensing Ron's hesitation, spoke first. "Why don't you start by telling me what happened after you left my apartment?" Loren suggested, and Ron nodded, seeming slightly more at ease now that he had some direction.

He recounted the story as it had happened, telling Loren of how he'd been intending on telling Hermione how he felt about her and of how he'd found her in the kitchen crying. He told her of how he lost control at the mention of Shawn's name, and how he'd gone out to find him. He finished by recounting Hermione's reaction and the truth of what Shawn had actually done. During the course of his narrative, his hands had gripped the arms of the chair with such force that his knuckles had turned white. Loren reached-over and put her hand on top of one of his as a gesture of support, and Ron seemed to relax slightly. He had just come to the part where Hermione had told him she never wanted to see him again when Ron stopped short, his eyes bulging to the size of quarters as his hand flew to his mouth. He groaned, and screwed his eyes shut.

"Oh my God, I think I _kissed_ her," he revealed, putting his face in his hands at the memory of his lips on her before he had left her flat. His ears were turning red, and the blush was creeping down to his neck. Loren had never seen Ron blush, but she was told it had once been a regular occurrence. Though Loren was quite surprised to hear this twist of events, she did not show it, and waited for Ron to elaborate. "It was right before I left to find Shawn," he said, though that was as much of an explanation as Loren was going to get. "Loren, I'm such a fool," he told her, his voice muffled as he buried his face in his hands in embarrassment much as Loren had buried her face in Charlie's shoulder when Ron had teased her the previous morning.

"You're not a fool, Ron," Loren told him, firmly. "You may not have done the smartest thing, losing control of your temper like that, but I'm sure you regret it enough without my holding it over your head," she said in a voice that was supportive but that also told Ron that she was being a true friend by not making any excuses for his actions. Ron began to be even more thankful for having come to Loren; any of his brothers would have lectured him to death by now. Loren was one of those rare people, aside from Hermione (before she had told him never to speak to her again), that Ron felt he could be his true self in front of. Nobody, not even Hermione, would ever be able to understand him completely…Ron didn't think that anyone could understand another human being's motives implicitly…but now that Hermione had thrown him out of her life, Loren came the closest to being that person.

"What do I do now?" Ron asked her. "She never wants to speak to me again; she hates me. You should have seen her last night. She looked so--so disappointed in me. It was like she was giving up," Ron said, putting aside the thought of his untimely display of affection the night before.

"Hermione doesn't hate you, Ron. I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I do know that one for a fact. I think you know what it is you have to do," she told him, and Ron, after thinking about the situation and listening to what his heart had to tell him, nodded.

~*~

Hermione's eyes were red, her nose was stuffy, and her face hurt. She had been crying, more than she thought was ever possible. Pieces of tissue were scattered all over the floor, but she was too upset to pick them up. She had wanted to take the words back as soon as she had said them, as soon as she had seen the expression on Ron's face, but she hadn't been able to; when Ron had tried to stop her the first time, she had almost, _almost_, given-in to him, but when he had neglected to try and stop her the second time, part of her had crumbled and she'd Disapparated before Ron could see how badly he'd hurt her. 

For twelve years she had been subjected to fits of temper from him, and she had told him time and time again that he needed to control them. Last night had been the last straw; she had never felt so afraid in her entire life than she had last night. She would have relished facing You-Know-Who, because at least he hadn't hidden what he was. When she had seen Ron, blindly hitting Shawn like that, it was then that she'd realised that Ron wouldn't change…not even for her.

Oh, she couldn't care less about Shawn; if she had had the opportunity, she would have hit him herself; it was Ron she cared about, Ron she had _always_ cared about. She knew, deep down, that even if Shawn _had_ proposed to her that night, that she wouldn't have been able to accept him. All these years she had dated men with whom she knew she couldn't have a future. All these years she had maintained the hope, buried deep inside of her, that perhaps someday she might entertain a relationship with someone she _really_ cared about, someone who cared about her…someone she had known since she was eleven years old.; the hopes of a relationship with Ron had always been there, but she hadn't even acknowledged it until recently. For all these years she'd buried it deep inside herself, quelching any thought of her relationship with Ron becoming more than it was, because as much as she hated to admit it, she was afraid. She was afraid to love Ron so much that if something ever happened to him, she might not make it through. She had put a wall up around her to protect herself from the hurt that would only destroy her if she ever lost Ron as a friend, but a lot of good that wall had done…the pain was still there, and it didn't feel as if it would ever go away.

She had talked to Harry last night and had asked him to make sure Ron was all right, but Harry had come by earlier that morning and told her that Ron hadn't gone home and that his parents hadn't heard from him. Harry had tried to make Hermione see reason, tried to get her to forgive Ron, but Hermione hadn't wanted to listen. She wasn't ready to verbalise what her head had finally let her see last night, what her heart had been telling her for so long. She loved him--she loved the poor bastard and what had she done? She'd shunned him, told him that she never wanted to see him again. Sure, she'd said things like these to him before, but last night part of her had actually meant them...of course, that part of her was now wishing that she were dead; anything so that she wouldn't feel so wretchedly alone.

A new bout of tears came and she knew that fighting it would be useless. Instead, Hermione let the tears come, let them pour freely over her cheeks as violent sobs racked her body. Oh how she regretted what had happened last night. The scene played itself in her head over and over like a broken record. He had reached out to her, his eyes pleading, but she had moved just out of his grasp. He couldn't touch her; she couldn't let him. Every time he touched her something happened within her: the world seemed brighter, everything looked beautiful, her heart warmed, and even if she'd been feeling horrible a second before she could start feeling happy again. It was then that she'd realised that she loved him, last night, when he had held her in the kitchen. She hadn't even been able to step into that room since she'd been back to her flat. Hermione couldn't bare to step in there, knowing that if she did, if she let the memories of his arms around her, the feel of his lips in her hair, the sound of his voice whispering soothingly in her ear...if she let herself remember those things, what was left of her broken heart wouldn't survive.

Hermione gathered the strength to lift herself from the spot where she'd collapsed the night before. She had gotten control of her tears at long last, though she didn't know how long that control would hold. She walked determinedly to her bedroom, the only room aside from the kitchen that wasn't filled with books (or discarded tissue at this point), only to have her heart break a little more. Neatly folded on her bed was Ron's maroon jumper; he'd left it at her flat by accident when he'd last had supper there and she'd been meaning to give it back to him.

"Oh Ron," she said, her words slightly strangled. She walked towards the bed as new tears fell down her swollen face, took the jumper, and held it close to her heart. She collapsed on the bed, more exhausted than she'd ever been, still clutching the small maroon pile. Ron's scent still clung to it, the smell of cinammon and cloves, the cologne that she'd gotten him last Christmas. Hermione remembered how he'd held her in the kitchen, and how she'd inhaled that scent as she listened to his heart beat. Her tears had been for the embarassment that Shawn had caused her, originally, but when Ron had brushed that stray strand of hair out of her face, and when he'd pulled her close to him, her tears had no longer been meant for Shawn. They'd been meant for Ron, and how she desperately loved him, but how he would only ever be her best friend. Surely he couldn't feel the same way about her, or could he? Even if there was a possibility, it no longer mattered. He'd kissed her in the kitchen…the feel of his lips on hers were scorched into her memory, and the thought that that one moment would have to last her for the rest of her life was the last to enter her mind as Hermione fell into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

When Hermione next woke up, it was to the sound of a pounding on her door. The Muggle clock on her night table indicated that she'd been sleeping for nearly twelve hours. She was still holding on to Ron's jumper, and a glance at her window told her that it was already dark. It was raining again, and if anything it was raining harder than it had been the night before. The night before…the events all came rushing back to her. 

The pounding sounded again, but Hermione ignored it. She didn't want to see anyone right now…she didn't want to see anyone ever again. She shut her eyes, trying to drown out the sound of the knocks, and the pounding finally stopped; a sigh of relief escaped from her lips, she just wanted to be alone and bask in self-pity at the idiocy of her actions, and the repercussions they'd had. She closed her eyes in an attempt to go back to sleep, but was quickly jarred from that notion at what she heard. 

It couldn't be!

"Hermione, I know you're up there!" she heard. It was Ron's voice, calling to her from the street below. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as she pinched herself—hard—and let out a small yelp at the pain radiating through her left forearm. She wasn't dreaming, and Ron was really down below. He had to be sloshed, she thought immediately, peaking out of the corner of the pane, careful not to be seen. "Hermione, I have to talk to you; I know you can hear me, I can see the top of your head through the window!" Ron yelled at her from the street, over the sound of the rain spattering on the roof and of neighbours yelling-out their annoyance at having a barking stranger yelling at rooftops. Hermione shrunk back, her cheeks turning pink. He looked surprisingly sober for someone who was out of his bloody mind. It was raining buckets out there, and Ron was already soaked through.

"Serves him right," she muttered, sneaking another peak. He was still there.

"You asked for it!" he yelled, and did something Hermione had _never_ expected him to do: he started singing.


	5. Chapter the Last

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Chapter 5

__

He's gone completely starkers! Hermione thought in horror as the sound of Ron's voice reached her window, _and every window in the neighbourhood_, she realised from the subsequent uprising of angry cursing that reached her even though her window was properly latched shut. Ron was singing a Muggle song; Hermione didn't know which one, and did not for the life of her know where Ron had heard a Muggle song let alone listened to it enough times that he knew it by heart but she decided to disregard this and listened to the lyrics that Ron was belting-out in a really, really, off-key voice.

"This year's love it better last; heaven knows it's high time, and I've been waiting on my own too long. When you hold me like you do, it feels so right. I start to forget how my heart gets torn, when that hurt gets thrown, feeling like you can't go on." _Wow, that probably sounds nothing like the original_, Hermione thought, referring to Ron's falsetto, although her heart couldn't help but skip a beat at the gesture. She risked a bigger peek out the window, no longer caring whether or not she was seen; Ron had already let her know that he knew her to be up there, anyway. Ron's arms were extended on either sides of his body, and his head was thrown back as he belted out the song…horribly off-key. He looked absolutely beautiful, in an odd way, with his clothes clinging to him, and his hair plastered to his face as the rain soaked through him. Hermione smiled, a warmth spreading over her chest, but quickly came to her senses as her neighbours began to make an even louder ruckus over the seemingly crazy man outside.

"What am I doing?" she scolded herself. Here she was grinning stupidly just because the boy she was madly in love with was making a complete fool of himself and she thought that it was the sweetest thing he'd ever done…well aside from belching slugs for an entire afternoon when they were younger; _You have a sick, sick sense of romance, Hermione_, and she grinned even more widely while Ron, who was on the second verse of the song by now kept his act going below.

"--If you love me got to know for sure, 'cause it takes something more this time than sweet, sweet lies before I open up my arms and fall, losing all control--" Hermione snorted. He'd already lost it. She took one last lingering look at the man below before shrinking against the wall and taking a deep breath, pressing her hands to her cheeks in a vain attempt to cool them, and ordering her wildly beating heart to calm down. What should she do now? _I'm still mad at him!_ She tried to convince herself, though a smile kept tugging at her lips even though she was trying her damnedest to suppress it. 

Hermione hesitated for only a second before running out of her flat, ignoring the fact that she was barefoot and was wearing the same rumpled clothes she'd fallen asleep in. As she took the stairs down four flights--it would be quicker than to wait for the lift--she didn't think about much of anything except how she would strangle Ron. It was just like him to do something like this. Every time she was angry with him he _had_ to go do something so incredibly sweet--albeit incredibly embarrassing--to make her forget all about the reasons why she'd been angry in the first place. Her bare feet practically flew down the steps and she finally made it outside, the rain pouring over her although she didn't notice. She stood there, letting the rain wash over her as she scanned the side of the building for Ron, and scowled at him as best she could. As Ron saw her, he smiled and continued singing, only this time looking directly into her eyes as he walked towards her.

"Won't you kiss me on this midnight street, sweep me off my feet, singing ain't this life so sweet--" he came to stand directly in front of her as he sang more of the song. Hermione, now aware at all the eyes frozen on the two of them, placed her hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the words. 

"Are you out of your bloody mind? Have gone completely bonkers!?" she asked, screaming. She loved him, but it was the principle of the matter that counted, and Hermione couldn't deny the fact that before he'd come here, despite the heartbreak she had suffered, she _had_ been rather angry with him.

"Hullo, Hermione," he replied, although the words were grossly deformed as her hand was still over his mouth. He was smiling, though; she could tell by the way his eyes were glowing. _Look away, do not look into his eyes_ was Hermione's mantra as she focused on a spot on Ron's forehead, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Well I'm glad _you_ think this is funny," she started, "of all the things you've done, Ronald Weasley, this is by far the worst, the most embarrassing thing I have ever had to live through. You are the most insufferable man I have ever met, and if you think that for one second you can walk over here, throw a few words around and make things alright again, you are sadly mistaken." Hermione took another shaky breath, and removed her hand from Ron's mouth…this was usually the part where Ron started yelling back at her.

"Are you finished?" he asked instead, his voice calm and hints of a smile playing across his lips. Hermione continually had to remind herself that she was angry.

"No I'm bloody well not, I--" She was cut off when Ron kissed her. It was nothing extraordinary, just the very sterile placement of his lips on hers for a few seconds…_enough to make her shut up_, Ron had told himself. It had worked, though; Hermione was looking at him completely dumbstruck, her eyes wide as saucers.

"I think you are," he replied, but groaned inwardly as Hermione recovered quickly.

"Don't presume to know what I am and am not, Ron. If you must know I am infuriated with you right now. I have spent the entire night wishing I had never met you." _There, that's sure to put a damper on his spirits_, Hermione conceded, trying not to betray the mad rush of electricity that was coursing through her veins from the kiss Ron had just given her. She couldn't help but frown, however, when instead of reeling at what she had told him, Ron instead burst out laughing as soon as the words had left her mouth. 

"Now we both know _that's_ not true," he said, recovering from his outburst. "Look in your hand, Hermione," he told her, still holding back a chuckle. Hermione frowned both in confusion, and aggravation, but did as he'd told her, and audibly groaned. There, in her hand, was his maroon jumper on which she still had a death grip. "I don't think you would be holding on to my jumper like that if you never wanted to see me again, now would you?" Ron asked in a most aggravating tone that made it clear that he knew himself to be right, and her to be wrong. Hermione groaned again.

"Why are you here, Ron?" she asked him in a voice that was meant to sound annoyed and detached, though Hermione had admitted defeat…_darn jumper! _When Ron didn't answer for a few seconds she looked into his eyes, and her gaze softened finally. She didn't want to fight anymore.

"Because, Hermione, I was scared out of my wits," Ron began. "I spent the night, in Canada no less, trying to figure out how I could spend the rest of my life without you in it. I know I messed up horribly; I know that I don't deserve to have you as a friend and that you've had to deal with my temper for twelve years, but I also know something else, Hermione, and that's that I love you, and I don't mean as a bloody friend either." Ron took a deep breath before continuing. "You are the one thing that keeps me grounded, the one thing that keeps me from doing something horribly stupid – last night excepted, of course—and the thought of losing you, that was enough to make me realise that I'm nothing without you, and that life without you isn't worth living. I--I realise that you love Shawn, and I'm sorry for what I did to him--"

"Ron, I--"Hermione went to interrupt, astounded that after all this time, Ron still had no clue as to her true feelings for him.

"No, please let me finish. I truly am sorry for what I did to Shawn. If you can find happiness with him, then that's all I want for you. More than anything I wish that things were different, that you could see me the way that I see you because then you would know how I feel about you, and how much it hurts to know that I'm never going to be what Shawn is to you; but, the prospect of losing you completely, of not even having you as a friend, that's too much for me. I couldn't bear that, I think I would die if you weren't in my life, Hermione. Please forgive me…for everything," Ron finished, looking at the ground and swallowing the huge lump that had formed in his throat. This was the hardest thing he had ever done. Not only had he told Hermione that he loved her, but he was letting her go as well. The truth was he abhorred the thought of her and Shawn together, but as he'd said, if it meant he had to swallow his pride to keep her in his life, then he would do it. He was surprised when he felt Hermione's hand on his arm, and looked up into her eyes where tears glistened. She was quickly becoming just as wet as he already was, but all Ron could notice was how beautiful she looked in the faint glow of the streetlights and his heart sank at the knowledge that she would never be his. 

"You're right, Ron. I'll never feel about you the way I feel about Shawn," she told him, tears brimming in her eyes. Ron looked at the ground again as the gash in his heart was only deepened by her words, but the feel of Hermione's fingers on his cheek, cool against the warmth of the red welt where she'd hit him the night before made him look at her once again. She was…_smiling_? "I'll never feel about you the way I feel about Shawn because I think that Shawn is a bloody git. I don't give a flying Hippogriff about him, Ron. It's all about you; all this time it has _always_ been about you, but I've just been too dense to figure it out. I love you, and you're right; I didn't spend all night wishing I'd never met you. I spent all night trying to come to terms with never seeing you again, and do you know what I worked out? That I can't. I can't live another minute without having you in my life. I love you so much, I don't know why it took me so long to let myself admit it."

"You mean that?" Ron asked, wondering if he was dreaming. Hermione's hand was still on his cheek and he took it in his own, weaving his fingers with hers.

"With all my heart," she told him, tears now spilling freely down her cheeks.

"Good," he told her, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart, "because there's something I've been meaning to do properly for a long time," he told her, closing the distance between them. The kiss was electrical, charged with all the emotions that they had been fighting for so long, and nothing like the two excuses for a peck they'd shared before. They heard cheers all around them, and broke apart. Surrounding them, people were bent out of their windows clapping and throwing out congratulations at seeing the outcome of the spat. Ron and Hermione laughed openly, Hermione blushing furiously, before giving-in to demand and kissing again as people went back to their business.

"We should go inside," Ron whispered against Hermione's lips a few minutes later.

"Why?" Hermione asked, too content to move.

"Because we're standing in the middle of the street, and because we're both soaked to the bone," he told her, matter-of-factly. Hermione looked up at the sky, as if seeing for the first time that the rain hadn't let-up.

"I hadn't even noticed," she told him honestly, a contented smile playing on her face. Ron took her hand, and they turned to go inside. The sound of someone clearing their throat made them stop, and they turned to their left to see Harry who was grinning like an idiot.

"Well it's about time," he told them in a knowing tone, still smiling.

"How long have you been standing there, and what exactly are you doing here?" Ron asked, his ears turning red in a slight blush even though he'd gotten control of his blushing years ago.

"I came to tell Hermione that Loren sent word to your parents that you had spent the night at her flat and not to worry, but I guess Hermione was too busy doing something else to do much worrying," Harry told them, laughing at the way Hermione's cheeks became redder at having him openly admit that she'd been worrying about Ron. "And, to answer your other question, Ron? Long enough to know that I should be coming in to one hundred galleons very soon. Fred and George will be awfully disappointed; they were off by three days."

"What!?" Hermione and Ron asked at the same time. Harry just laughed, and hugged them both.

"That'll be a story to be told on your wedding day," he told them, "I'll be sure to tell your parents that I found you," he told Ron, shaking his hand and kissing Hermione briefly on the cheek before Disapparating, the wide grin never leaving his face. 

Hermione turned to Ron, and gave him a quick kiss. "What was that all about?" she asked, kissing him again. Ron smiled, and kissed her back.

"Who cares," he told her, resting his forehead against hers. "We'd better get upstairs soon, or we'll never make it," he said kissing her again.

"I love you, Ron," Hermione smiled, relishing the way saying those words aloud made her feel.

"I love you too, Hermione," he told her, taking her hand before they both walked inside.


	6. Epilogue

A/N: Ah, the last chapter, and the fluffiness of it all—gets to you, doesn't it? Now you will notice the emergence of Katherine Annabelle Weasley below, and she would be Loren's and Charlie's little brat of a daughter, bless her heart :P She also makes a brief appearance in _WeeIrishLass_'s **Making Shade** which is a story you should all go and read if only for that very fact (never mind that it's an absolutely amazing, and incredibly well-written piece of fiction). And, speaking of absolutely amazing, and incredibly well-written pieces of fiction, while you're at it you should seriously consider taking a gander over to _sgrquill_'s profile where she's got _loads_ of worthwhile stories to read, my personal favourite being **Anything and Everything** although there are some to cater to every taste.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

****

Epilogue

"Katherine Annabelle Weasley, get back here!" Loren Chapman-Weasley yelled, chasing her two-year-old daughter around the room, trying to wipe her face clean of the chocolate cake she'd been eating. Ron Weasley tried to balance his champagne flute as two little red pigtails came bobbing by, grabbing a hold of both his legs and using them as shelter.

"Uckle Wonnie," Kate said, her attempt at 'Uncle Ronnie.' Ron laughed and handed the flute to his brother Charlie, scooping up the little girl, his niece, into his arms and ruffling her hair affectionately.

"It's a good thing she looks just like her mother," Ron laughed, teasing Charlie, "because they're the only two people in the world who can get away with calling me Ronnie," he grinned, tickling the little girl who wriggled contentedly in her uncle's arms.

"Watch it, little brother," Charlie warned Ron as his daughter gave her uncle a big chocolatey kiss on the cheek, leaving a smear. They both laughed as Loren came running up to them, gasping for air. She kissed Charlie briefly before wiping her daughter's face with a wet cloth.

"Uck, Mommy!" her daughter protested, trying to move out of the way of the cloth, but Loren had two years of experience, and was able to wipe her daughter's face without too many problems. Turning her head to the man holding her daughter, her eyes widened in amusement. Loren took one look at Ron's face and laughed out loud, then proceeded to use the cloth on his cheek.

"Uck, Loren!" he protested in turn, as his new wife came to stand beside him, her white dress billowing around her.

"Is my husband giving you any trouble?" Hermione Granger, now Hermione Granger-Weasley asked Loren, her smile more radiant than usual. She looked beautiful.

"Nothing I'm not used to," Loren told Hermione though her voice held a hint of a British accent now that she'd been living in the country for a few years. Loren's eyes sparkled and she winked at Hermione mischievously, "if I'm not dealing with my daughter's antics, I have to deal with my husband's. It's the Weasley DNA coming into play," she said even though she knew that wizards' knowledge of Muggle science was sketchy at best. The reference, however, wasn't lost on Hermione who had grown up in a Muggle family.

"Ah yes, the infamous Weasley DNA," Hermione replied, laughing, "it gives us a run for our money, but that's why we love them."

"Or at least tolerate them," Loren said, and laughed at Charlie's feigned hurt expression before kissing him.

"Yuck," came Kate's disapproval.

"I'll show you yuck," Loren said before kissing her daughter several times on the cheek, the latter laughing and wriggling quite contentedly in her godfather's accustomed arms.

"Hey, speaking of money, we never did learn why Harry got that hundred galleons," Ron said, handing Kate to Charlie who promptly kissed her on the top of the head. 

A noise at the front of the room alerted them to some activity, and Hermione craned her neck to see what was happening.

"I think we're about to find out," Hermione told Ron, motioning to the stage where Harry was standing, ready to make his best man speech.

"Oi, everybody," Harry said, looking quite dashing in his Muggle tuxedo (the wedding had been a double ceremony of sorts…a Muggle ceremony for the sake of Hermione's parents, and a Wizard ceremony for Ron's side) as everyone took a champagne flute and quieted down. Harry cleared his throat and began his speech. "At the risk of sounding like the priest, we're all gathered here today because we're celebrating Ron and Hermione's wedding. About time, too," he said and everyone laughed. "In any case, I'm especially happy to see these two tie the knot finally, not only because they're both my very best friends in the world, but also because their admitting their feelings for each other came at a very opportune time for me." Harry looked at Ron and Hermione; Ron's arm was around Hermione whose head was resting on his shoulders. Harry smiled and continued:

"Almost seven years ago, when the three of us had just left Hogwarts, the Weasley family and I made a little wager. You see, to us, it was blatantly clear. We knew that Hermione and Ron had it in for each other; it was painfully obvious to everyone except for the two of them, so we all put money into a pool and tried to guess at how long it would take before they came to their senses. The money was one hundred galleons and our guesses were all over the map, from Mrs. Weasley's one week, to Charlie's less than enthusiastic never."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Charlie," Ron muttered quietly to his brother. Loren gave her husband a look halfway between contempt and amusement before turning her attention back to Harry.

"Well, I'm proud to say that my guess was the one to win it all--although I have to admit that it was a close battle," he said, nodding to the twins who were looking a little bitter. "In any case, although winning the money was a definite perk, I was just happy that the two of them realised just how completely daft they were and finally decided to give it a go. We all know the story of how it happened, and it's our duty not to let Ron live the night of his little serenade down, but I digress. As best man I think we should all raise our glasses to Ron and Hermione. I know that your relationship will last anything that can be thrown its way, and I wish you the utmost happiness. To Ron and Hermione," he prompted.

"To Ron and Hermione," everyone said, lifting their glasses in the couple's direction.

"Just one more thing," Harry said, as two large screens were lowered. "I have a little surprise for the happy couple. Call it my contribution to the cause," and with a wave of his wand a large image of Ron appeared in the middle of a very rainy street, singing very off-key. Ron groaned and lowered his head into his hands, as everyone around him laughed. Harry and Ginny walked (although Ginny waddled under the weight of her pregnancy) towards Ron and Hermione. "I thought you'd like that one," Harry told Ron, an evil grin on his face. 

Ron would ordinarily have been fighting back anger, but instead he merely lifted his hand in a rude gesture. He saw Loren cover Kate's eyes and smile from the corner of his eye and looked down at his hand in awe.

"So that's why you always do that," he told Charlie in realisation, referring to the many times Charlie had given him the finger; he'd always wondered why, when in his youth Charlie had had a temper to battle his own, he now resorted to that particular hand gesture instead of losing his temper…after all these years Ron had finally gotten his answer. The six started laughing, and Ron pat Harry fondly on the back, as the rest of the guests clapped and cheered at the screen where a kissing Ron and Hermione stood under the rain. Ron pressed Hermione against him, and lowered his lips to hers as the hooting grew louder and eyes turned their way.

"I love you, Mrs. Weasley," he told her when his face was inches from her.

"I love you," Hermione told him, tears in her eyes, before Ron closed the distance and kissed her amidst a loud roar from the appreciative crowd. It was to be the first of many kisses that they would share as husband and wife.

THE END

(Or the Beginning, depending on how you want to see it.)

A/N: Yes, another one; shameful, isn't it? Though I'm not one to go begging for reviews, this is one time where I will swallow my pride and ask you nicely to go check-out my other stories. Not that it bears repeating, but as most of you are well-aware, my previous account was accidentally deleted, and in so doing all my stories, including all the wonderful reviews I'd gathered were lost as well. One story in particular, _Stranded!_, had quite a few reviews and since I've reposted it, the response rate has been less than stellar. If you can find it in your hearts to leave a kind word, I've been told that the story is relatively decent, and would very much appreciate if you took the time to read it, or just scan over it if you've read it before, and let me know what you think. Thanks in advance, and I promise this is the last time I'll bother you about it. In any case, thanks for reading this far :)


End file.
